


Northern Star

by stratuslost



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Comfort, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28425405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratuslost/pseuds/stratuslost
Summary: An unexpected guest, a meeting gone wrong, but perhaps the start of something new.
Relationships: Darion Mograine/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	Northern Star

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a very long time since I've written anything, or since I've played, and it's nice to be back to both.
> 
> This would be pre-relationship/it's there if you squint. I've missed a lot of in-game events and timeline, so I just ran with it.

Anduin chewed at his lower lip, disregarding any and all lessons he’d learned about proper ‘kingly’ etiquette as he gave into the nervous buzzing in his stomach. 

The governess of his childhood would have been so disappointed in him. 

However, the governess wasn’t the one that was going to be holding an evening meeting with a ‘Deathlord’ and her entourage, either. He’d been shirking his duties for weeks now, repeatedly putting off this particular meeting and the time had finally come for him to face the proverbial music. The future dealings between Stormwind and the Ebon Blade depended on him and he was acting like a child. 

He stood and gave himself a mental shake. 

“That’s enough,” he muttered and he strode to the door.

They would arrive soon and being late wasn’t likely to leave a good impression. 

He grabbed his cloak and jogged down the stairs, going over the list of topics he’d put together weeks ago. There were some particulars he wanted to work into their agreement - safeguards, he supposed - to make sure that in the event of another faction war, the Ebon Blade would remain neutral. The last thing Stormwind needed was an army of undead swarming through the streets. There were still plenty of men and women alive that remembered what it was like in Lordaeron all those years ago, and even now their unease was palpable whenever Death Knights walked the streets. Though times had changed, the lingering fear of the undead was deeply seated within the Alliance cities and Anduin doubted that would be changing anytime soon. Years of cause for mistrust and unease didn’t simply fade overnight.

The relationships the Ebon Blade had built within the Alliance, even now, were tenuous at best.

Anduin entered the throne room and greeted the guards with a forced smile as he passed through to the meeting chambers. He disliked the feeling of lording over anyone and sitting upon the throne his father once occupied was...uncomfortable. He’d spent many years looking up at a man he was now coming to understand that he’d only partially known. His father had looked larger than life, every bit the king Anduin had read about in his story books.

Yet, as he’d grown, he’d come to understand that his father, too, had his failings. Perhaps, Anduin thought, that was part of his aversion to the throne.

Before too many memories could capture him and his thoughts could lead him down a rabbit hole he wasn’t prepared to traipse through, he heard the sounds of muffled discussion from outside the door and the steady pace of boots upon the stone floor. He was almost thankful for the distraction despite how the pit of his stomach suddenly sank when the nervousness from earlier came rushing back ten fold. 

It would be alright, he told himself yet again. 

Fear and trepidation left a sour taste in his mouth and he swallowed roughly when a man walked through the door. 

He waited briefly, expecting him to step to the side as any trusted guard would do, and he was sure his surprise showed on his face when a woman took her place opposite his own guard at the door. No one else entered and his unease grew, mixing with his confusion. 

Where was this ‘Deathlord’? Had SI-7 been incorrect in thinking that the Deathlord was a woman? Was-

“Your Highness.” The man dipped into a shallow bow and Anduin tensed, the ethereal sound of his voice making him pause as it settled around the room. The sound carried its own presence, something heavy and haunting just beyond the polite tone. 

He returned the bow stiffly, disregarding the subconscious reminder that it was unnecessary. “I apologize, sir, but I was expecting-”

The man cut him off as he moved forward to take a seat at the small table. “The Deathlord sends her apologies for being unable to attend.”

Well, that answered that, he supposed.

Anduin sat as quickly as he could and forced himself to take a slow breath through his nose, to take a moment to settle his shoulders and try to be comfortable. The man before him, though shrouded in dark armor and a cold presence Anduin found difficult to explain, was not exactly what he had been expectating. For one, he’d assumed there would be more of them - a full contingent of Knights to accompany their leader.

One man, well...

He cleared his throat. “I’m sure whatever it was couldn’t be avoided. Please tell her the apology is accepted, though unnecessary.” 

“I will pass along your words.”

“Wonderful.”

Slowly, silence fell then stretched between them. The tension in the air was heavy and Anduin suddenly felt as if he was drowning in the sounds of his own heart beating in his ears. Memories of sitting in the chapel as a young child, trying to concentrate on reaching for the light while his breathing cut through the silence stirred through him and he suddenly realized that the sounds of breathing from across the table were unnaturally slow. It set the hair on the back of his neck on end and words burst from his mouth just to cut the quiet. 

“You are?” It came out like a demand - rude, curt, and sharp - and Anduin winced. “I’m sorry… But, I don’t believe we have ever met.” 

The man had the decency to look both surprised and apologetic, at the very least. 

Well, Anduin supposed he did. With the helm on it was hard to get an exact read on his expression or even an idea of what he truly looked like. The metal curved across his cheeks, little more than his mouth and his eyes visible, and Anduin wondered if this was not one of the reasons so many found them unsettling. To not be able to see who was addressing them, walking amongst them…

That, Anduin felt, would be difficult for anyone to overlook.

“Darion Mograine,” the man said, the words cutting through his train of thought, and Anduin had to steady himself in the chair. 

For, in that moment, he knew that he was an imbecile. 

Of course she would send the Highlord, her right hand, to discuss matters of importance in her place, and suddenly he was glad they were the only two in the room; a room that seemed to grow ever smaller as the seconds ticked by. Looking foolish in front of one was difficult enough, yet easier to swallow than in front of a full party of guards, and despite his best efforts he felt the tips of his ears burn, flushing harshly with embarrassment. 

“Of course.” Was he to apologize? One of the most well known men in the land, even before his death, and the King of Stormwind couldn’t recognize him - couldn’t have simply put two and two together? 

In the end, Anduin decided it was best to simply jump in and he slid a slip of paper across the table, forcing himself to shove aside the upset brewing in his mind, to focus on what was needed to keep his people safe. “Shall we begin?” 

Thankfully, the Highlord agreed and no more was spoken on the topic of introductions.

\---

Once free, with pressing matters finally settled, Anduin excused himself. Of course, he went through the pleasantries of offering the pair quarters for the evening, with access to all the amenities the castle had to offer, including joining them for dinner and then very nearly ran from the hall. Fear no longer nipped at his heels but the walls had started to close in, the air becoming difficult to pull into his lungs with the beginning of their meeting forever burned into his mind. Thoughts of what it would be like when Darion returned, the conversations that would be had about the incompetence of the ‘King’, filled his mind and his throat tightened. To be the brunt of their jokes without his knowledge was one thing, but to realize he would be front and center long after they left was shameful. 

A simple faux pas, yet one that would stick with him for years to come.

He’d known from the beginning that Genn would have been more fit to be King, despite his temper. He had the countenance for it, the gruff resolve that made him steadfast and strong, and he cared little of what others thought of him. He had thick skin and an honest mouth. 

And what did he have? Good intentions? A desire to please? A heart that couldn’t stomach the life of a warrior, one that turned to the softer side of the light?

He knew...he was no warrior, he was no _Paladin_ , but he was a Wrynn, a king by birthright and little else.

Anduin laughed, a shaky sound that pushed him to move quicker along the stone steps and out to the private courtyard nestled behind the castle. 

Darkness had settled some time ago, the winter months drawing an early sunset, and the cool air felt nice on his face. The first frost had yet to come and the grass remained green, leaving the soft scent of the remaining flowers his grandmother had planted floating through the air.The bubbling of the fountain was a comforting sound, gentle and constant, and he dropped heavily onto one of the stone benches tucked beneath the trees. The light of the moon was dim but he was glad the staff hadn’t gotten out to light the lanterns just yet. It was somehow quieter, more private and peaceful without the light of the candles.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 

It could have been much worse, he thought, though he refrained from thinking up any specific scenarios of just how it could have been worse. The idea was to calm down, of course, and there was no need to add second hand embarrassment onto the pile of first hand embarrassment he was already experiencing. 

“Just breathe,” he muttered to himself, and that is what he did. 

He let himself get lost in the rise and fall of his chest, in the quiet sounds of nature, and the bubbling of the water. He listened to the breeze ruffle the leaves in the trees, to the distant sounds of the city, and the gentle hum of the Light that had finally surfaced in the back of his mind, breaking through the worries. He let his subconscious ease into the comforting embrace of his faith and let himself relax into the easy ebb and flow of the power until a chill took over the air around him and shattered the warmth. He shivered and his eyes snapped open. He watched as his breath turned to a fog when he exhaled sharply and he felt a coldness seep into his bones. 

“My apologies for the intrusion.”

The words were soft but Anduin jerked back, nearly toppling off the bench. His breath caught in his chest, surprise tightening against his lungs, and the concerns he’d fought hard to subdue came rushing back. 

Darion had somehow found his way to the courtyard and was mere feet from him, just out of reach of a blade if he’d had one. A habit, Anduin thought, and when he looked up blue caught his eyes. The color stopped him in his tracks, the words that had been on the tip of his tongue faded away, and he wondered if this was what it meant to be captivated.

The light of Darion’s eyes shone brightly - an unholy light that should have struck the chord of discomfort he’d felt earlier, but it didn’t. Behind the sharp edge of the metal and the frost of undeath Anduin saw only stars, small pieces of the heavens that lit the night, and for a moment he forgot who it was that had interrupted his silence.

“Highlord, I- ...how can I help you?” 

Darion was quiet for a moment then, slowly, he took a seat on the bench opposite of Anduin. “I felt there was more to...discuss,” he said quietly. “There was more to be said that was, perhaps, not fit for a meeting hall.”

“Was there?” Anduin was staring and he knew it. It was hard not to; but he brushed the thought aside. He’d heard stories, seen the blue glow of the eyes of the undead made in the Lich King’s image in the daylight, but he’d never been so close - face to face - with nothing around to dim them, to take the edge off the shock of the intensity of the gaze. They had never seemed so bright. Was it simply Darion? Was this part of the difference between the Highlord and others of the Ebon Blade?

“Yes.” Darion nodded and Anduin watched him glance around the courtyard briefly, heard him take a long breath and exhale slowly. “It is...difficult - to take up the duties of another.” 

He paused, unsure of what Darion meant. “I’m sorry, but-”

Darion cut him off and shook his head. “I, too, was lost, Your Highness. Some footsteps are impossible to fill... and in the end we must forge our own path, create our own steps for others to follow in.”

_Oh._

Alexandros…

Anduin had heard the stories, he’d read the books in the library full of history and heartache, and it occurred to him that he was sitting beside someone from the pages, someone that was trapped in time by his connection to the Lich King. It was a heavy realization, one that made him almost sad for the other man.

“I wasn’t expecting...you.” He’d meant to say something else, to explain to Darion in some way and yet, he’d butchered the sentiment behind the words. His worry faded, however, when the Highlord laughed and the sound echoed through the chilled night air. 

“Nor I, you.” 

Despite himself, Anduin laughed. “...I suppose we’re even then.” 

He felt the smallest threads of the tension in his neck begin to dissipate and he looked away. 

“Yes, it would seem that we are.” 

This time, when the silence fell, Anduin felt more at ease. The night embraced them in a way that he could only describe as gentle, even calming. Where he had assumed that the Light would draw him away from someone like Darion, it didn’t. He felt the hesitation within himself beginning to fade and the cold Darion brought with him becoming less oppressive, less daunting. He supposed that only a poet would have been able to do the feeling justice, would have been able to explain the tangle of emotions, but a poet he was not and would never be. 

It was companionable, he decided, and he allowed the small burst of surprise he felt over the realization to run its course.

“Thank you,” he said softly and when he looked back to Darion he found a guarded gentleness flickering from within the blue light of his eyes. 

“You’re welcome, Your Highness.” 

“Anduin, please.” 

Darion nodded slowly and, for just a moment, Anduin let himself get lost in the beauty of the stars, shining bright in the darkness of a moonless night. 

_You’re welcome, Anduin._


End file.
